Everlasting Legacy
by Unit 37
Summary: The tale of Twilight is one with many holes, many absent memories, many forgotten stories. Time has made them relics, but they hold many secrets. Ashei's past is her secret. And while the hero incarnate continues his journey, Ashei's continues hers. -Abandoned-
1. Entry Zero

_Zero_

His hair is like my father's; wavy, blond, blowing about carelessly in the wind. He smiles like my father, hugs like my father. And when he opens his eyes, they shine with a vivid blue—like my father's. As they said, he is the same. Everything passed from one generation to the next.

Except for me.

I hold the boy close, gently pressed him to my breast. My feet struggle down the steep hillside without the use of my hands. Ordon Village lay below us. My deepest regret is that I cannot be his mother, and teach him all that the Hero of Time had learned, knowledge that could be only gleamed from any other source.

Now I am alone, torn from he who would be my son, from he who I would shield from inevitability. I am forced to watch from afar, watch as he grows, watch as he loves, watch as he falls victim to the cycle that has befallen all those before him, all those who would choose unbound by destiny.

My path is not that of the chosen hero, no matter whose blood flows through my veins. I may only watch, watch and keep him to the path. It is a false destiny, for he may not escape it. As it has always been—as it will always be—he will follow the cycle of the hero.

Innocence.

Maturity.

Tragedy.

The cycle of the hero.


	2. Entry One

_One_

My hands slip through strands of black, through hair belonging to a face I no longer recognize. All that I learned from Zelda, I have applied to myself. My eyes, my body, my birthright, all are hidden so that I might walk among my companions without scrutiny. My given name… I no longer remember it. So long has it been since any who mattered knew me by it.

They call me Ashei.

Auru, Renado, Shad, three who would think to call me their friend, three who would seek to thwart the King of Darkness without need for the cycle. They are the bravest people I have ever known. They stand defiant in the face of an overwhelming power, a hunger that would stretch across fields, across deserts, across mountains.

Were the cycle to falter, were the hero to fall, I would trust the future to them.

Yet here I stand: An imposter.

I wear armor of gold I'd like best never to use. In my hand, a blade I shall never touch. The cycle binds us all. Only I understand this, only I can comprehend the power it holds over us. We will never change it. We will never come close. So many times have I thought to end this façade, this charade, this mask of defiance.

My life remains an unending chapter, a story with no resolution. Those around me will die with grace. They will die surrounded on all sides by loved ones, by family. I will have no such luxury. I will have no such death. I shall walk beside them till the end, only to continue into the next generation as the old one passes into the earth.

Why must I live while others perish?

My mother—my father—they aged as they should have, passed into the final years as one. They lived as one. Fought as one. Loved as one. Never were they forced to extend their lives for the sake of another, for the sake of a kingdom. Why do I remain in my youth, some unnatural of the fey?

The sword is drawn back to its sheath.

I exit the room with the practiced routine of a mountain woman. I stand tall; I dominate whatever room I enter. But as I enter this room, as I see my companions gathered around the map, my gait slackens.

I've watched him since he was a boy, watched as his life followed the same twists and turns, watched as he came close to love, but hungered for something more. But I could not prepare myself for first sight, for seeing my father once again in the flesh, once again taking on the hero's mantle.

My son.

He casts a gaze across the room, passing over Telma, ending on me. Blue eyes. My father's eyes. He is the spitting image of the great hero, tunic's natural green darkened by blood stains and dirt smudges. It is so familiar, a callback to another time, another age, another cycle.

Innocence.

Maturity.

Tragedy.


	3. Entry Two

_Two_

I kneel.

Though such formalities are unnecessary, given the situation, I feel as though I must adhere to them. I am the only thing I can control. Though life is unwilling to involve me, and death is unwilling to claim me, I shall control how I lead my life. I choose to adhere to such formality because I _can _choose to.

I'm the only one with a choice anymore.

Zelda is beautiful, even when cast against the dark shadow of Twilight. Only we remained untouched by evil, by the plague of worlds that sweeps across the land. Only we know the truth, only we stand to comprehend a grand scheme larger than ourselves. In that fact, I find some comfort in.

"Princess." The mountain accent has become so natural I find it difficult to speak without falling into the guise of Ashei.

Zelda abandons formalities. She embraces me with more strength than I'd thought possible. She's too pale, too thin. Even with such strength behind her, she feels breakable. And though I reciprocate the affection, I do so with much less force, whispering in her ear words unaffected by my false accent: "I missed you, too."

She withdraws. "Did you do as I asked?"

"I did."

"And the sword, you have it with you?"

I am forced to disappoint, for my sword arm remains empty. "No, princess. I could not draw it from its pedestal. I don't believe it will awaken for anyone but the hero incarnate, regardless of whose blood runs through their veins."

What happiness she'd gained through our greeting was now absent. "Are you sure?"

A pause. "The gods demand a cycle. Though I continue the bloodline, it isn't blood they care about."

She hides her disappointment behind a mask of regality. "He's your son. Do you believe he will be able to bring light to our darkness?" She turns to the window and pushes aside the shredded curtain. Through it, I see a world of death, of men dying for honor, of children slaughtered by monsters.

…Twilight. Our Twilight. Our twisted version of the sister world.

And my son. Though he remains such in my thoughts, it is strange to hear the words uttered by another. Is he my son? The boy I found in the burning village, the boy I took into my arms, only to give him up before he could reach infancy. I was not the one meant to raise him. It was not my role to play.

I have no role to play. My very existence is blasphemy.

My thoughts finally return to the conversation, to Zelda, to inevitability. "I know he will. He always has." I hover to the bed that Zelda has been provided, one of the few comforts her tower offers both in peace and during occupation.

It doesn't look to have seen any use.

I sit on the edge of the mattress and do my best to unloosen the armor that defines the perception my companions have of Ashei. Even when it has finally fallen to the stone floor, I do not feel lighter. Knowledge weighs down on me, knowledge I have only shared with one other, knowledge I was too keep from everyone.

It is a strange feeling, that I'd like nothing more than someone to hold, someone to cry on. I wish I could. I wish I could let myself grow close to another. No matter how slowly time passes, it always ends with death. Everything ends with death. Why begin? Why begin apocalypse?

My response is delayed by memories. "He is the hero of Time incarnate. Of course he will."


	4. Entry Three

_Three_

Hylians do not understand the nature of immortality, or even the nature of those granted unnaturally long lives. I see it in their stories, their legends, their folklore. They believe that time is a petty thing to us, that decades pass in minutes and years in seconds.

They're wrong.

Time does not pass us by as they would like to believe. We cannot close our eyes and allow ourselves to slip into the next century. To us—to me, time crawls. Our days mean just as much. We watch with learned eyes, waiting for signs of the familiar. Life drags itself across the ground in front of us, a slow, painful death.

Each decade means something. Each year means something. Each day means something. I can—I appreciate the small happinesses life has granted me. Friendship. Love. Even as it all inevitably fades, I've come to revel in the brief moments of glory handed to me in between the long days of sadness.

My bishop moves diagonally from the center of the board "Check."

The walls of Hyrule Castle stand high around me. The throne room remains glorious, even in the blanket of Twilight. Ganondorf lifts a hand to scratch thoughtfully at a beard that's grown tainted with hints of gray. His king retreats behind what remain of his pawns. "You've improved."

"You're letting me win."

"I never allow anyone to win. That's just how it always ends." He shifts in his chair, resting his chin on the opposite hand. "Now, what of the Master Sword? Was this gamble of yours worth it? Were you able to draw it?"

"No."

"Did you expect to?"

"I don't know."

There is a moment of silence.

"What of the boy?"

Link. "The cycle proceeds just as it has before. His existence will continue this charade of a conflict between you."

Ganondorf laughs and leans back in his chair, forgoing our game. I hate his laugh. It reminds me too much of what villain the heroes have always believed themselves to be fighting. "I speak of the boy, Lora, not the hero. The boy is what distinguishes one incarnation from another."

I bend my head forward, looking down at my lap. Strands of Ashei's black hair fall in front of my eyes. Her armor is still alien, her weapons, her personality. No matter how long I spend as her, I will never truly accept her. "…he's a sweet boy, but… the third step of the cycle has already presented itself."

Regret shows on his face. "Midna?"

I stand and turn away from my opponent. I cannot face Ganondorf like this, not with grief, with the overwhelming sadness that threatens to consume me. "Twice. It's already happened twice. There was a reunion the first time, but only after toil and bloodshed. The second—"

My hands curl into fists.

I rip Ashei's sword and its sheathe from my waist and hurl it across the room.

It clatters for a moment before falling silent.

Ganondorf removes himself from his throne to stand beside me. His age shows. To those who exist within the cycle, it does not show, but to me, he is an elderly man calmly awaiting death. "I have not forgotten about the last hero."

"There has to be a way to end it!" My composure slips. I… the subject is… disconcerting. "This can't happen again! Not a third time! Not death, or heartbreak, or separation; nothing!"

Ganondorf places a hand on my shoulder. "You still remember Elena?"

"It plagues me every night." I shrug away from his hand, doing my best to calm my nerves. "He was going to marry her, Ganon. I was going to attend the wedding. She was—" Tears fall from my eyes. Too much sadness. Too much death. "—they were going to be happy."

Ganondorf bows his head.

There is a moment of silence for the hero and his love, a pair that history has forgotten. So few know of the one who came after my father, of the second boy to take on the burden of the Master Sword. They forget the sacrifice he made. They forget that he ended his own life out of misery.

The cycle of the hero.

Tragedy.

Death.

Nothingness.


	5. Entry Four

_Four_

Faron Woods.

All that remains of the Kokiri presence in Hyrule exists in this forest. Their playgrounds, their homes, their ruins. All that the current generation knows of the forest children came from this place, this place of death. One day, the Hylians marched into the woods and took what they thought was theirs.

…they killed children.

Children.

I could do nothing. I'm not Kokiri. I'm not Hylian, Zora, Goron, or Fey. I'm nothing. To the invaders, I was not. My words were ignored, my pleads disregarded. I was detained, forced to listen to the Kokiri as their home was set aflame, as trees crumbled, as their great protector died.

Hylians.

I've tried to convince myself that they are not their ancestors, that the children will grow away from the selfish beliefs of their parents, but I know it isn't true. Someday, Hyrule will be at war with itself again.

And again.

And again.

Someday, we won't need Ganondorf to drive us to our knees and put the sword to our throat. There will be no dictator, no foreign culture threatening to engulf our own. We will do it to ourselves, bring death upon ourselves. On that day, there will be no further need for the cycle.

No further need for heroes.

I meditate, focusing my senses on all that cannot be seen. The scent of a pine tree drifting through the air. The whistle of a soft breeze. Subtleties long forgotten by Hylians. Only through serenity can I draw her forward, the true spirit of the forest, the one sworn to guard it till the forest children make their return.

Saria of the Kokiri.

She's not the girl my father knew. She's not a girl.

She's hardly Kokiri.

Her entire being has been given to the forest, protecting it as the Great Deku Tree could not.

Where there was once skin, there is now bark. Where there was once hair, there are leaves. Where eyes once rested, there are spherical black orbs. A far cry from the girl my father knew, from the girl I knew. Her form and status prevent me from even hugging her, from letting her know how glad I am that the beasts of Twilight did not claim her.

She drifts towards me, taking root with each step, bringing about new life with each breath. "Lora." The voice of the girl is echoed by the voice of a god. "You have returned to me."

I nod. "Yes."

"Why have you returned to me?"

"Because I have a question for you."

Saria was silent. The forest was silent.

"What happened between you and my father after my mother left?"

Another pause. "Navi?"

I wish for a moment that I can appear as myself, that I can do away with Ashei and remain Lora. "He stayed in the forest with you after he returned from his journey. What is… what happened?"

For a moment, it is a girl who answers, a twelve year old girl trapped in childhood. "I loved your father in a way Kokiri were not meant to love. And for a short while, he loved me." She looks as though she is about to cry, but her eyes allow no tears. Such pleasures were sacrificed long ago. "We were happy."

"…and… my mother?"

"I am not your mother, Lora, if that is what you've come to ask." Her words are laced with regret. "The Kokiri are not like Hylians. We can experience their pleasure, but we cannot bear fruit from it. No children could come of our union."

"What about my mother?"

There is a pause, longer than before, masking some secret I can't identify. "Your father always loved Navi. He and I shared a love, but the bond your mother and he forged went beyond mere romance. They developed something more. I believe your mother was afraid of that love when she fled."

"But she came back?"

"Link found her. He never gave up on her, but he experiences lapses in his searches."

"Where was she?"

A pause.

Saria finally sits down in front of me, crossing her legs. Plants stretch out to touch her. Mother. Life-giver. "Navi was living far outside the borders of Hyrule, perfecting her magic. In that time, she'd perfected her control over magic. She and Link were allowed the type of relationship previously barred from them."

A lie.

Nothing in life was ever so easy.

Especially not for the Hero of Time.

But I say nothing. I let the lie slide. Something is missing, something about my mother. I don't believe that magic would so easily grant her such power over matter. Even Saria should know that centuries of life have taught me to accept everything with a grain of salt, regardless of the source.

I stand. I have heard little, but it is enough.

The god returns to Saria's voice. "When will you return to me?"

"Soon," I say as I leave.

I will not lie to her as she's lied to me.


	6. Entry Five

_Five_

Link strafes, winded, trying to find a way through my defense, the Master Sword held tightly with both hands.

I am tired, but not debilitating so. He is the incarnation of my father, but I have been granted decades to perfect my skills. I have experience. He has the Triforce. Until he is given an opportunity to truly train with someone who exists outside the cycle of the hero, he will never be a true master.

I step forward, bringing my own sword crashing down on his.

The Master Sword tumbles to the ground with a clatter. Link falls backwards, only just catching himself. He is still too much of a boy. Barely more than a teenager. The life being forced on him isn't one he deserves.

He bends down to retrieve his weapon.

I put the tip of my sword to his head. "You're taking too many blows. Stop letting yourself get hit and I'll stop knocking you down." He is too much of a boy. Far too much of a boy. Ordon should be his life. The gods should have granted him just one more year to live his life before taking it all away.

I strike again.

His deflection is glancing.

He struggles to do as I've told him. In a fight with another swordsman, he is untrained. No encounter has allowed him to practice combatting a trained fighter.

Midna watches from the shadows. Her presence is not overt, but I feel her eyes on me. …it saddens me. He knows companionship, even love, with this woman. Is it cruel that I cannot tell him? If I tell him, something will change, the cycle will correct itself. Midna will die, or leave, or break his heart.

Something.

As Link slips into a combat stance, I sheathe my sword.

Combat ends.

I wipe away what sweat has built up above my brow. The shadow watches, the shadow Ashei is to know nothing about.

It is so very much like the relationship my parents had, a love that could not be shared without disapproval.

The love of the fairy.

The love of the twili.


	7. Entry Six

_Six_

Zelda again.

I no longer dwell on her as much as I once did, but she remains in my thoughts. Some call her the princess of destiny, fate to return time and time again alongside the Hero of Time. It is only now that she has been granted a role beyond that of the prototypical damsel in distress.

Surrender was the cost of mercy. The princess is taken so that the rest of Hyrule might be spared.

So here Zelda remains, forced to squander her existence in isolation as the rest of the world continues around her. She waits for the reincarnation of the hero to come to her rescue, just as the Hero of Time rescued her ancestor. And here she lies with me, naked body entangled with mine, clothes strewn indifferently across the floor.

…she is very warm.

Her heart beats alternately with mine.

I don't understand our relationship, or whether it could exist outside of her containment. And my life. My life will not end as hers ends. Even at the end of her life, when her skin is withered and her mind taxed, my youth will have yet to fade. Could I stay with her even as I stay the same?

Her arm is draped across my chest.

I am allowed so little true happiness in this world. All that I am given comes with a cost. Death. All that I seek is followed by death. Those I come to love afterwards are always preceded by it. Living. Dying. Death.

The Resistance is supposed to be meeting now, planning the siege of Hyrule Castle. But… I can't bring myself to leave. I love the princess of Hyrule. I love her as much as I've loved anyone, as much as I've cared for any past paramour. So perhaps the fairy tales do hold some truth.

Heroes do fall for princesses.

…the siege can wait.


End file.
